Working for the Devil dv-1

by Lilith Saintcrow

  And Lucas turning down payment was unheard-of. Whatever he knew about Santino, he wasn't going to tell—and he considered me already dead.

  I was seriously beginning to wonder if he might be right. I was Santino's next victim.

  And Jace might be working for the demon who haunted my nightmares.

  The waitress brought the tequila. Japhrimel murmured to her, and I heard the rustle of more money exchanging hands. I wish I'd learned Portogueso, I thought, and slowly sat up. I took the first shot of tequila and tossed it back, hoping the alcohol would kill any germs on the dirty shotglass. Fire exploded in my stomach and I coughed slightly, my eyes watering.

  Japhrimel sat bolt upright on the other side of the booth. I watched the front window of the restaurant for a little while—we'd taken a booth in the back, of course, so I could have my back to the wall. The water from the tequila-burn rolled down my cheeks; I scraped it off with the flat of one hand, keeping my katana under the table.

  He examined me closely. I contemplated the second shot of tequila.

  Finally, he reached over and took the shot glass in his golden fingers. He lifted it to his lips and poured it down, then blinked.

  "That," he pronounced, "is unutterably foul."

  I coughed slightly, and giggled. The sound was high-pitched, tired, and more panicked than I liked. "I thought demons liked liquor," I said. The slick plastic tabletop glowed under the high-intensity fluorescents set in the plasteel lamps hanging from chains, made to look like old-fashioned lamps.

  "That seems to be something other than liquor," he replied.

  I took in a shaky breath. The banter helped. "Do you have any ideas?" I asked him. "Because I've got to tell you, I'm fresh out."

  He nodded, the light running over his inky hair and even face. "There might be something…" He trailed off, closed his eyes briefly. Then he looked at me. "I've ordered food. You must take better care of yourself, Dante."

  "Why?" Another jagged laugh escaped me. "I have it on good authority I'm not going to live long enough to have it matter. Everyone keeps telling me I'm going to die." Including that little voice that happens to be my better sense, I added silently. I held up a finger. "I'm Santino's next victim." Another finger. "The Corvins want me unharmed, presumably for delivery to an interested party." I held up a third finger. "Jace is a Corvin. A blood Corvin. What does this add up to? Me being fucked, that's what it adds up to. Santino's a demon. If you can't kill him, what chance do I have?"

  Japhrimel looked down at the table. He said nothing.

  "Lucifer's set me up to die, hasn't he?" I said it quietly. "There's no way I can kill Santino. I'm supposed to distract Santino while you get the Egg. And when I die, it's too bad, so sad, but she was only a human after all." My fingers ached, gripping my katana's sheath. "Tell me if I'm wrong, Tierce Japhrimel."

  He placed his hands flat on the table. "You're wrong," he said quietly. "The Prince believes you can kill him. You did survive him once, after all. And now you have me, not a human sedayeen, watching over you. I may not be able to kill him myself, but I can help you—and keep you alive and free long enough to kill him. And once we recover the Egg, I will be free." His eyes swung up, found mine. "Free, Dante. Do you know what that means? That means I can do as I please, no commands from the Prince, no shackle to my duty. Free!"

  His eyes blazed, his mouth turning down in a grimace. I watched, fascinated, almost forgetting my sword. It was the most emotion I'd ever seen from him.

  I swallowed dryly. I'd never heard of a free demon before. Lucifer must be desperate to drag me out of my house and offer a demon like Japhrimel complete freedom. "What would you do if you were free?"

  He closed his mouth, dropped his eyes again. There was a long pause before he shrugged. "I do not know. I have an idea, but… so much may change, between now and then. I have learned not to hope for much, Dante. It has been my only true lesson."

  I took this in. I was beginning to feel more like myself now. "All right," I said. "You haven't led me wrong so far. So what's this idea of yours?"

  "Eat first," he said. "Then I'll tell you."

  I tapped my lacquered nails on the tabletop. "Okay." I checked the front window again, nervous for no discernible reason. "So what did you order?"

  "Arroz con polio. I am told it's quite good." He didn't move, hands flat on the tabletop, eyes down, shoulders straight as a ruler. His black coat and inky hair drank in the light, oddly glossy under the fluorescents. "Does it surprise you, that he would not tell you his Flight and clan?"

  I shrugged. "I never would have dated him if I'd known," I admitted. "But still."

  "Indeed." He waited for a few heartbeats. "He went back to his clan to protect you, it seems."

  "He could have told me. Left a note. Something. Look, I don't want to talk about this. Can we pick another subject?"

  He nodded, his left hand suddenly moving, tracing a glyph on the tabletop. I watched for a few moments, then looked at his face, studying the arc of his cheekbone, his lashes veiling his eyes, the curve of his lower lip. "I have a thought," he said.

  "Lay it on me." I tapped my fingernails on the plastic. My rings were quiescent, dark.

  "Sargon Corvin," Japhrimel paused, traced the glyph again. "In the name-language of demons, sargon means 'bleeder' or 'despoiler'." He looked up again. This time his eyes were dark, and I felt my pulse start to hammer again. He looked thoughtful. "So does Vardimal."

  It was near dawn as we headed back for Carmen's bodega. Japhrimel was right, the world started to look a little less grim once I had some food in me to balance out nerves—and the tequila.

  Nuevo Rio was hushed, the night people streaming toward bed and the day people not yet awake. That meant that the crowds had thinned out, and there was less cover for an Anglo Necromance trailed by a demon. I was a little more sanguine now, though. After all, I had a demon on my side.

  And I was beginning to think he was trustworthy.

  We turned the corner onto a long, empty street with boarded-up windows, Japhrimel pacing next to me, his hands clasped behind his back. I carried my katana a little more easily than I had before, since it didn't seem likely that I'd need it in the next few minutes.

  "So what's this grand idea of yours?" I asked, checking the sky. Pale pearly dawn was beginning to filter through the lowering clouds, and the breathlessness of an approaching storm had intensified, if that were possible. I longed for rain, for lightning, for anything to break this tension. I hate muggy weather.

  "You may not like it," he said, his head down and his hands clasped behind his back.

  "Does it give me a better chance of killing Santino?" I asked, checking the street again. My nape prickled. Nerves, probably. It had been a hell of a night.

  "It does. Yet…" Japhrimel trailed off again. "You do not trust me, Dante."

  I shrugged. "I don't trust anyone, not until proven." That sounded rude, and I sighed. "You're okay, you know. But my jury's still out until you tell me this idea."

  "Very well," he said. But he didn't explain—instead, he glanced up at the sky too, then down at me.

  "I'm waiting," I reminded him.

  "I would wish to give you a gift," he said, slowly, as if he was choosing his words carefully. "A piece of my Power. It will make you stronger, faster… less easy to damage."

  I thought it over, skirting a puddle of oily liquid. The pavement here was cracked and dangerous, small sinkholes yawning everywhere. My neck prickled again. I was too nervous. Too strung-out. I needed sleep, or a fight… or something else entirely. "What's the catch?" I said finally.

  "I am not sure you would wish to be tied to me so closely," he answered. "And the process is… difficult, for humans. Painful."

  I absorbed this. "You would… what, make me into a demon?"

  "Not a demon. My hedaira."

  "I've never heard of that."

  "It's not spoken of," he said. "It… ah, it requires a… ah, a physical bond…"

 
Was that embarrassment in his voice? Another first, the first time I'd heard a demon groping for words. "You mean like Tantrik; like sex magick?" I ventured, feeling my cheeks heat up. I'm blushing. Anubis guard me, I'm blushing.

  "Very similar," he agreed, sounding relieved.

  "Oh." I mulled this over, stepping over another puddle. Gooseflesh raised on my back, a chill breath on my sweating skin.

  Why am I so nervous?

  I opened my mouth to say something when Japhrimel froze between one step and the next. I halted, too, closed my eyes, and sent my senses out, winging through the predawn hush.

  Nothing. Nothing but the demon next to me, and the persistent static of city Power—

  — and a smell like cold midnight and ice.

  My entire body went cold, my nipples drawing up hard as pebbles, my breath catching.

  "Dante," Japhrimel said quietly. "Run."

  "No way," I whispered. "If he's here—"

  "Do not be foolish," he whispered fiercely, catching my arm and shoving me. "Run!" His hands flickered, came up full of silver guns.

  My katana whispered free of its sheath, metal running with blue light and Power, runes twisting along its surface.

  And then all hell broke loose. I'd like to say I was of some use once the fighting broke out, but the only thing I remember was a huge stunning impact throwing me to the ground, my katana still clenched in my hand, and Japhrimel's roar of furious agony. Plasgun bolt, I thought, I didn't expect a plasgun bolt from a demon. And darkness swallowed me whole.

  CHAPTER 35

  Cold.

  After the heat of Nuevo Rio, the cold crept into my bones and twisted hard. I moaned, trying to lift my head. My left shoulder burned mercilessly, my right wrist clasped in something hard and chill. Stone under my fingertips.

  It took a while before I could open my eyes. When I did, the darkness didn't change. Either I was blind, or locked in a place with no light.

  Both were equally possible.

  For a few vertiginous minutes after I woke up, I couldn't even remember my own name. Then it all came flooding back.

  Plasgun. I'd been hit with a plasgun bolt, set on stun. That explained the temporary blindness—if I was blind—and the way my entire body felt as if it had been ripped apart and put back together wrong. A plasgun charge was the worst thing for psionics; it drained and screwed up Power meridians, as well as giving a hell of a headache.

  I moved slightly, and the sound of metal dragging over stone reached my ears.

  Chained. I was chained to the stone. A metal cuff clasped my wrist.

  I took in a deep ragged breath, moaned again. Yanked on the chain. I was underground, I could tell I was underground, in the dark. My rings scraped stone as I pulled on the chain, metal clanking, another moan echoing against the walls.

  Stop it, a cold, calm voice intruded on my panic. Get hold of yourself. You're not dead yet, so look around. Use that famous wit of yours, Danny, and try to figure out why you haven't been killed yet.

  Santino. He'd been there. Had he snatched me? If so, I had to think, I had to.

  I shut my eyes again. The squirming worm of panic under my breastbone started to grow. I had to pee, and the darkness was absolute, and the cold leaching into my bones made me shiver, like the cold of bringing a ghost back.

  Anubis et'her ka. Se ta'uk'fhet sa te vapu kuraph. Anubis et'her ka. Anubis, Lord of the Dead, Faithful Companion, protect me, for I am Your child. Protect me, Anubis, weigh my heart upon the scales, watch over me, Lord, for I am Your child. Do not let evil distress me, but turn Your fierceness upon my enemies—

  Light bloomed, a faint blue glow. I hitched in a shuddering breath. My eyes popped open.

  My rings were dead and dark. The glow came from my katana, lying on the other side of the stone cube with my bag and my coat, thrown in a heap. My plasgun was gone; so was the katana's scabbard. Oh, thank you, I thought. Thank you, Lord. Thank you.

  A faint heat bloomed inside my chest. My shoulder ached fiercely, as if a hot poker was being drilled into the flesh. What had happened to Japhrimel?

  And why leave me my sword? I was deadly with edged metal.

  Then again, Santino had faced me down with a sword before and won; he'd taken the plasgun, which was the only thing faster than a demon. Santino might not fear me even if I had my other weapons.

  Let's hope that's his first mistake.

  I was trapped in a featureless stone cell with a drain in one corner. A faint sour smell came up from the drain. I wriggled across the floor, not trusting my legs yet.

  The chain fetched me up short. I wriggled around, stretching, but the katana was still a good six inches away and I couldn't twist any other part of my body near enough due to the narrowness of the cell. I finally settled on my stomach, staring at the katana's hilt.

  I was drained. I had not even an erg of Power left. Taking a plasgun bolt will do that, scramble and drain your Power meridians. I'd either have to wait for a recharge, or…

  I stretched out my left hand. My shoulder burned. The faint blue glow helped immensely, even though I could see no way out of the cube. Don't worry, I told myself, if there's a way in, there's a way out.

  I lay on my back, my left hand out and reaching, stilled myself. Anubis, I prayed, You have shown me Your favor. Give me my weapon, please. Don't let me die chained like an animal. Please, my Lord, help me, for I have served You faithfully—

  I strained, every muscle singing in agony, my heart speeding up, my breathing rising. The blue glow stuttered.

  I inhaled, waiting for the space inside me where the god lived to open.

  — blue crystal pillars, a flash of light, the god's face, turning away from me. My emerald, flashing, a song of creaking agony.

  My katana's hilt slammed into my palm. I gasped, shocked heart and lungs struggling to function—the body needed Power to survive; to drain myself so completely was dangerous, my heart and lungs could stop and tip me into Death's embrace.

  When I regained consciousness, I had my katana in hand. The Power vibrating in the blade trickled into me. It helped.

  In the glow from my blade, I examined the cuff around my wrist. It took a moment to snag the blade on the strap of my bag, and then once I had my bag I dug in to find my lockpicks. They were there—I said a silent prayer of thanksgiving while I worked on the ancient lock. It took a while, and one fit of whispered cursing at my numb fingers, but I finally tickled the lock open.

  Wearing my coat helped with the chill. I settled my bag under the coat, against my hip, and held my katana.

  There, I thought, that's definitely better.

  I took a few moments to lean against the wall and breathe. The stone cube was windowless, doorless, with nothing but the drain in one corner. There was no Power in the walls that I could sense, but when I closed my eyes and felt around me I discovered two things—that I was still in Nuevo Rio, because the Power here tasted like ashes and tamales and blood, and that there was a dead spot on one wall, where the stone didn't resonate like stone should.

  First things first. I relieved myself into the drain, wishing I'd packed some toilet paper in the bag. Really, I scolded myself, you should have known that you'd end up in a stone dungeon with no facilities. That's how these things always end up, isn't it? Who kidnapped me? If it's Santino, why am I not dead? And why in the name of the gods did he leave me my sword?

  Then I zipped myself up and walked over to the dead spot. The ceiling gave me only about an inch of clearance; if I'd been any taller I would have had to hunch.

  I had enough Power now to reach out and tap into the city's well again, thankful I'd had a chance to acclimate. Being locked in this cell with backlash would not have been good.

  With the tapline secure and my throbbing headache easing as the Power soaked back into me, I touched the dead spot on the wall. It appeared to be stone to my fingers.

  I stared at the stone, and my left shoulder gave a crunching flare of pain. I transferred my kat
ana to my left hand, blade-down so the glow from the steel would give me light, and reached up with my right, sliding my hand under my shirt. The ridged loops of scar pulsed under my fingers. Heat flooded me.

  I saw, as if through a sheet of rippling glass, the city underneath me. Fire bloomed in several different places, and my right hand was up, clinging to something rough. Rain lashed down, unable to quench the fires, and there was an incredible noise. Then the world rushed up to meet me, boots thudding into pavement, and someone's soft throat gave under my iron fingers.

  "If she is harmed," I heard Japhrimel growl, "I will kill all in my path, I promise you this."

  I woke up lying curled on the stone floor, my katana's hilt pressed to my forehead. I would have a nice goose-egg on my temple from hitting the floor. The tapline resounded as if plucked like a guitar string. "I gotta stop passing out," I moaned, tasting blood. I'd bitten the inside of my cheek. "I'll never get out of here."

  The tingle of Power told me I'd been down for about half an hour. That doesn't tell me anything, I thought, who knows how long I've really been down here? Hunger twisted my stomach.

  I settled down cross-legged in front of the dead spot, staring at it. The lack of Power here told me something was here, and chances were it was an entrance.

  I started to breathe, deep circular breaths. Opened the tapline as far as my aching head would allow, soaking up the Power of the city like a sponge. Three-quarters of the influx went into my rings; they started to sparkle against my fingers. The other quarter I used to start fashioning a glyph of the Nine Canons—Gehraisz, one of the Greater Glyphs of Opening.

  If it didn't blast the door off its fucking hinges, at least it might blow away some of the shell of illusion over the door and give me something to work with. I waited, building the glyph carefully, the faint glow from my katana fading to a dim foxfire glow.

  It took a long time for my rings to come back to life, meaning that my Power meridians were settling back into normal. Then all the available Power went into the glyph. It started to pulse, folding up in the air and glowing a fierce silvery-white. Looped and spun, three-dimensional, and I drew it back. Like an arrow, like a cobra coiling itself to strike.